Chapter 9 #2
“Mercy has been talking about you,” Blaze said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard her excited about reading, but you seem to have done it.
Hopefully the enthusiasm sticks until she finishes the assignment.
” Blaze had never made it through an assigned book until Pride and Prejudice.
The love of classic romances had stuck, but movie adaptations were more her speed.
“With frequent check-ins, we’ll try to all stay on track to finish.” Ms. Johanssen massaged her thumb against her palm. “I wasn’t going to mention this until I got to know Mercy better, but maybe it’s a sign that we ran into each other. Has she mentioned anything else about class?”
Blaze’s mouth went dry, and she shook her head.
“She started talking when she was supposed to be filling out a worksheet. When I said something, she looked like she might cry. Then she was too down and distracted to participate at all. I happen to know her fifth grade teacher, and I was in the office when she called you to bring her clarinet. The secretary said she’s already forgotten her lunch a couple of times too. ”
Three times. And the school year had barely begun.
She’d also forgotten her gym clothes once.
If Blaze were more on top of things, they’d have this figured out already, but she had a hard enough time finding her own things every morning, let alone Mercy’s.
She bounced Melinda. She’d rather change a diaper than continue this conversation.
Across the square, three strangers stood in line at the nacho truck, but no Mercy. Panic zipped Blaze’s attention from one place to another until she spotted the trio at a picnic table.
“Does she forget things a lot?” Ms. Johanssen asked. “Have a hard time staying on task?”
Blaze’s defensiveness came out in a loud sigh. “Kids forget things. Everyone does. And school wasn’t my favorite either.” That was one reason she skipped college and entered the workforce.
“Trouble making friends?”
Blaze motioned to the girls.
“Okay.” Ms. Johanssen stepped back. “I don’t want to speak out of turn.”
Blaze’s pride smoldered. Yet Mercy loved Ms. Johanssen, despite being corrected by her. That said something. “We’ve come this far. What are you thinking?”
“Mercy is a great kid. If you ever notice her struggling in some of those areas more than other kids are, the school could help you investigate ADHD.”
The letters, familiar yet unexpected, knocked a breath from her.
“Is that the one where boys are hyperactive? Mercy’s not like that at all.
When she cares about something, she can get so focused she loses all sense of time.
” Blaze had experienced the same during busy sales days or when researching an interesting topic.
She’d lost hours to songwriting and videos about rabbit care.
If only more practical matters drew them in that way, they could avoid conversations like this one.
“Hyperactive boys are the stereotype, but just as many girls have ADHD. It goes undiagnosed more often because most females have a type that’s less outwardly disruptive.
” She spoke with her hands more as she continued.
“They forget important things—like lunch—often. They might be chatty, but they lose focus when others talk so they might not know the answers in class and miss social cues. That can cause disconnects with peers.”
Blaze shot another look at her sister. Was their normal really so … abnormal?
Ms. Johanssen touched her forearm, drawing her attention back.
“Those struggles can lead kids to feel like they don’t measure up or fit in, which can contribute to anxiety or depression.
I’m not saying I see all this in Mercy, but the forgetfulness, sensitivity to correction, even the chattiness … .”
Sensitive. How many times had Blaze described Mercy that way? What if it stemmed from something more complex than a personality quirk? And much of what Ms. Johanssen said applied not only to Mercy, but also to Blaze.
Not measuring up? Check.
The ability to focus on some things and not others? Check and check.
She raked her fingers through her hair. “So I’ve passed on one too many bad habits, huh?”
“Oh, no. Parenting doesn’t cause it. Mainly, it’s genetics.”
A ball tightened in Blaze’s chest. Was ADHD yet another curse from their parents? Their grandparents? Would she and Mercy ever be free of the negative impacts of their family line?
“Next!” The man in the food truck window shouted.
Grateful for the excuse to end the conversation, Blaze promised the teacher she’d look into it, then moved forward to place her order. Afterward, she avoided being pulled back into the conversation by busying herself with Melinda.
“Jennifer?”
She ignored the man’s voice as she lowered the girl back into the stroller and secured the safety belt.
“Jennifer.” The voice drew closer.
She turned and found herself face-to-face with Anson.
He studied her with his eyebrows drawn. “Your name is Jennifer?”
“Oh.” She looked down at Melinda. How many awkward conversations was she going to have before dinner? “Only when it needs to be.”
“How did I not know this?” His sneaker scuffed against the pavement. “We went to high school together. None of the teachers called you Jennifer.”
“We only had one class together.” Besides, in little Many Oaks, most of the teachers had known her nickname before she entered their classrooms.
“Chicken pita!”
“That’s my order.” Blaze pushed the stroller a step away, but Anson touched her arm. A shiver jolted her shoulder.
He lifted his hand, then stuffed it in his pocket. “How did a girl named Jennifer end up being Blaze?” Curiosity softened the steel blue of his eyes.
Why was he asking like this was a revelation?
They’d met the first morning of her freshmen year.
When a cute guy treated her kindly, she hoped high school would be a fresh start with different friends, better opportunities, and fewer obstacles.
But when she’d said hello the second day, his lips barely twitched in a greeting.
She’d assumed his friends had warned him off by filling him in on her history.
All these years later, she could still taste the shame and disappointment.
“I’m sure you’ve heard. I really need to get going.” She stepped up to the window and claimed her food. She rested the pita on the stroller’s visor and fit her soda in a holder on the back.
Anson’s voice rumbled beside her. “You want me to rely on rumors?”
A scoff caught in her throat. “They’ve gotten you this far.”
He winced. “You’re right. I never should’ve listened to the stories. I’m sorry.”
She tangled her fingers in the ends of her hair, too shocked to reply.
Sydney bumped through the crowd and took Anson’s hand as she joined them. “Hey, Blaze. Who’s this?” She wiggled her fingers toward the stroller.
“Melinda. Amelia’s sister. I’m on kid duty for the night, so I should get going.” She steered the stroller around the couple, but she couldn’t help a look back.
Anson was watching her. She gave a little smile meant to say she forgave him. Still, she didn’t regret guarding her story. An apology didn’t prove she could trust him with the truth.